


A Terrible Toll With Which The Future Is Purchased

by Anonymous



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gang Rape, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whipping, forced sexual acts, kink meme fill, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1420000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Fill for the following prompt:</p>
<p>All the Amis get captured by the army/police/whoever, and are forced to watch Enjolras being beaten and gang-raped in front of them. Because Enjolras will never betray his co-revolutionaries, but maybe his friends will start naming names in order to save him...</p>
<p>shame!bonuses:</p>
<p>+ Enjolras ordering them not to say anything no matter what happens</p>
<p>+ some kind of corporal punishment like whipping or caning</p>
<p>+ Les Amis in a cell and Enjolras tied to the bars on the other side, so they can touch him and talk to him but not stop what's happening to him<br/>++ whoever's in charge giving up on getting information out of them after a while and saying "fine, it stops as soon as one of you succeeds in getting him off"<br/>+++ if Combeferre and Courfeyrac reluctantly try, but in the end Grantaire is the one who manages to get Enjolras to orgasm mid-gang-rape by sucking him off, and it fucks him up so much that Enjolras has to comfort him afterwards</p>
<p>+ Enjolras being all defiant and proud of having braved so much for his beliefs</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Terrible Toll With Which The Future Is Purchased

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this fic contains multiple rape, as well as dub-con forced sexual acts of one Amis onto another. There is also tw for whipping.

“I would rather die than betray my friends!”

A dark chuckle accompanied the harsh blow that followed and Enjolras tasted blood.

“Very stirring!” the Captain of the guard sneered before spitting at Enjolras who refused even to flinch at the derogatory gesture. “Let’s see how your friends feel about that.”

Enjolras felt a moment’s confusion, but he was swiftly hauled to his feet and half dragged, half pushed out of the door and down the corridor. There was a moment before a door, keys jangled and a lock turned before he was pushed inside.

The large cell was divided in two by a row of floor-to-ceiling bars. As he entered the room, Enjolras could see all his friends huddled at the far side. His heart sank. _So they were here too_. 

Joly appeared to be tending to Bossuet, using a ripped shirt as a bandage, but otherwise all seemed relatively unharmed apart from a few cuts and bruises.

Combeferre sprang to his feet, but Enjolras jerked his head ‘no’ and mercifully his friends stayed silent.

“Well now!” the guard said cheerfully. “Isn’t this a nice reunion?”

Enjolras could see the tension and horror in the faces of his friends and he wondered what he must look like. He made an effort to straighten up, to relax his shoulders. He must not appear weak.

Suddenly he was pushed forwards towards the bars, his wrists fastened just slightly above his head. His hands curled naturally around the cold metal, holding onto them tightly as though he was holding on to the earth itself.

At such an angle he was bent forward slightly. Strong hands seized his shoulders and there was the sound of ripping fabric. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply as the cold air met the soft pale skin of his back. He could not suppress the shiver of vulnerability and being exposed in such a way.

“Fetch me the whip,” the Captain instructed.

“You may beat me to death if you wish, Sir,” Enjolras spoke over his shoulder, jaw set and eyes cold. “But I will still say nothing.”

The man reached forward, grabbing him by the hair and jerking his head back. Enjolras hissed.

“Maybe _you_ won’t say anything. But what about them?”

He pushed Enjolras’s head so that it faced forward once more, looking directly at his friends. He tried to communicate with his eyes, looking at each and every one of them.

_Please_ , he thought, _stay strong. Give them nothing_. 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac stood side by side, holding hands. Joly and Bossuet clung to each other eyes wide. Bahorel stood grimly, armed folded, black eyes glaring, Feuilly by his side, face pinched with strain. Jehan was on his knees, face buried in Grantaire’s shoulder. The latter sat on the floor of the cell, staring with a lost expression, attempting to comfort Jehan. He looked up to meet Enjolras’s gaze, face pale and taut. 

The first blow landed hard across both shoulders and he was unable to prevent the cry from passing his lips.

“You want to stop this don’t you?” the Captain’s voice was silky smooth with malice.

Another blow, overlapping the last. Enjolras was somewhat ready for it this time, but he still gasped at its sharp sting.

“Then tell us what we want to know!”

Enjolras gasped again at the bite of the whip, this time further down. Then the delivery began to speed up and the room was filled with the sound of leather on flesh.

“It’s really very easy. All this will end when we’ve got what we want.”

“Tell them – ah!” Enjolras shouted, eyes screwed up tight. He had long since given up counting each stroke. Combeferre darted forward, reaching up to touch Enjolras’s hand where it curled tightly round the bars. 

At the gentle gesture Enjolras’s eyes flew open, meeting Combeferre’s steady gaze. The man was white, eyes blazing with cold fury and worry.

“Tell them nothing,” Enjolras wheezed, before groaning as the whip came down once more.

“We are with you Enjolras,” Combeferre muttered, his voice intense. Enjolras managed a small smile which quickly converted to a grimace as the whip smarted across his ribs. He could feel the sticky wet sensation of blood trickling down his back.

“Combeferre,” he groaned, another flame bursting across his already burning back.

“We love you,” It was Courfeyrac’s voice this time, standing at Combeferre’s side, squeezing Enjolras’s other hand. Enjolras took courage at their words. Maybe he could survive this. 

There was a snort of laughter.

“Oh I bet you do! I bet you all do! A pretty one such as this, it would be hard not to.” The Captain laughed cruelly, delivering a final volley of blows, before the whip clattered to the floor. Enjolras sagged against the bars, feeling as though he may pass out. A cool hand touched his face but he had no energy to see which of his friends it was who sought to comfort him.

“Gods, no!” Combeferre breathed and instantly Enjolras tensed. Rough hands grabbed his hips, forcing his legs apart. He struggled against his bonds, trying to turn.

“I think we should find out what all the fuss is about lads, don’t you?” The Captain turned to the other guards in the room who all started forward, eyes glinting greedily.

“I don’t know about you, but it’s been a long night. I think I need to relax!” As the Captain spoke, he delivered a slap to Enjolras’s backside, while the others in the room began to roar with laughter. Enjolras gritted his teeth as he realised their meaning.

Combeferre watched wide-eyed as the Captain took out a knife, playing with it in his fingers, a cruel smile about his lips. He rested it against Enjolras’s bleeding back, the cool blade contrasting against the spitting heat of the whipping. He turned it, trailing the sharp edge downwards, leaving a raised red path.

“Such pretty skin,” the Captain purred, before roughly seizing the waistband of Enjolras’s trousers and slicing open the back. Then he spat into his hand. Joly started forward.

“No, you can’t!” he cried in horror, realising the man’s intent.

“Quiet!” Enjolras shouted, feeling the hot red shame burn his cheeks, trying to mentally prepare for what was about to happen to him

_I can do this. I am not here. This is but an earthly vessel._

All his life he had lived chaste. He had heard others speak of the joys to be found with women; Bahorel spoke quite highly of his mistress, while he understood Joly and Bossuet were content to share their affections with the same woman. Enjolras found himself trying to remember her name as two fingers roughly entered him.

He could not stop the tears that sprang to his eyes, though whether they were from pain or shame he could not tell. The intrusion caused him to squirm, but a firm hand clamped his hip into place, forcing him to stay still.

When the man entered him, Enjolras thought he might die. The pain of being ripped apart tore through him and he almost left himself. 

“Oh, my friend, my friend,” Combeferre was muttering, tears pouring down his cheeks.

With every thrust, bile rose in Enjolras’s throat. He clung to the bars, to the hands of his friends, though he half wished they might leave him to endure this alone, to spare himself their pitying and horrified gazes. He could not bear to look over to where his other friends stood.

He felt disgusting.

With a grunt, the monster behind him finally climaxed, and Enjolras shuddered at the stickiness between his thighs. It was over, he had done it.

But it was not over, and he was foolish to ever think that he would get off so lightly.

“He still doesn’t appear to be saying much,” the Captain’s voice was ragged and breathless. “And I think his little friends are enjoying seeing their leader get fucked like this. See if you can do any better!” 

Enjolras could only imagine which of the men took the Captain’s place behind him. He steeled himself, inhaling sharply. At least now the spendings of the Captain were there as some form of lubricant. The absurdity of the thoughts running through his mind made him squeeze Combeferre’s hand all the tighter.

After a third man had violated him, Enjolras felt completely broken. Surely he must die soon. His arms ached, his wrists were bruised from his bindings and the skin of his back was tight where scabs had begun to form. He knew he was torn from being raped by these cowards, these brutes. Surely the body could only endure so much.

He felt the hands of another holding his body still and a sob escaped his lips. He pressed his forehead to the steel bars as he tried not to think about what was happening.

“Please, please stop!” A voice shouted suddenly. Enjolras opened his eyes.

Grantaire was on his feet, walking over to the cell bars, not looking at Enjolras, but at the men standing behind.

“Just stop, please!” Grantaire cried out, his voice cracked, tears staining his cheeks. 

Enjolras screwed his eyes shut. _Of course, it would be Grantaire_. 

The Captain nodded at one of the guards who had already had their turn. He left the room and unlocked the door to the other side of the cells.

“No, Grantaire!” Bossuet cried out, Joly and Jehan holding his arms, the latter already in tears as Grantaire was taken out of the cell.

Grantaire felt numb. All his life he had been useless but this, this at least he could do for Enjolras. 

“So?” The Captain looked at Grantaire expectantly. “What do you have to tell me?”

Grantaire stared at the Captain, swallowing. Enjolras’s knuckles turned white against the bars, his soul in pain. He knew Grantaire was just trying to help, but he had endured so much already. Let it not be for nothing.

“Nothing. I have nothing to say. Just, take me instead. I would take Enjolras’s place.”

The guard stared Grantaire up and down, before backhanding him across the face, sending Grantaire spinning to the floor.

“So you would do him service, would you? You filth, you disgust me!” he spat again. There was a riot of movement from the other cell, voices calling out in horror. 

Combeferre’s hand squeezed against Enjolras’s fingers, taking the moment of distraction to reassure his friend and Enjolras was grateful for it, but it could not last long.

A hand seized his hair, pulling his head back roughly. The foul breath of the Captain made him retch.

“I am tired of your non-compliance. You still refuse to talk? Well then, this doesn’t stop until that creature at your feet brings you to completion!”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the rest of the room. The Captain released Enjolras’s hair, letting his head drop, his scalp throbbing. Enjolras glanced across to where Grantaire rested on his knees looking horrified.

“Grantaire,” he whispered, his voice strained. Terrified brown eyes stared up at him.

“Get to it before I lose my temper!” the Captain snapped, seizing Grantaire by the shirt and dragging him to kneel before his leader. “You want this to stop? The quicker he comes the quicker it ends!”

Grantaire looked up helplessly at Enjolras. Their chief looked exhausted, his cheek a vibrant purple form an earlier blow. Sad blue eyes stared back.

“Forgive me,” Grantaire whispered before tentatively reaching forward with his fingers. Enjolras closed his eyes. He knew Grantaire’s heart had been in the right place; that the poor man had only been trying to help. He didn’t see how he this would ever end. He was far too horrified, too broken, to be mortified by the added indignity of having his friends used in such a fashion. 

Grantaire’s mind had come to an abrupt halt. He could feel Combeferre’s eyes burning into his back. He had never meant for this to happen. He just couldn’t bear to see their leader, to see Enjolras, be touched in so vile a manner. And now he was being asked to do… this. This was obviously punishment for every inappropriate thought he had ever had.

Daring to look up once more, Enjolras’s eyes were closed, his face contorted with pain. He let out an agonised sound as the fourth man thrust inside, and Grantaire knew what he must do.

Enjolras was soft in his hand. Grantaire took a deep breath. He must do his best, for Enjolras’s sake.

Slowly, he stroked Enjolras, feeling him gradually harden beneath his fingers. Above him, Enjolras’s breath hitched slightly, interrupting the gasps from each thrust.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre hissed behind him. “Be swift, please!” 

Steeling himself, Grantaire knew what to do. How often had he fallen into bed with some boot-stitcher, or found some young handsome lad, eager to please and be pleased in turn?

_This was not Enjolras_. 

He repeated this mantra over and over as he took the younger man into his mouth. But he was unable to convince his mind and all at once he felt tremendous shame.

Enjolras gasped to feel himself engulfed in wet warmth. It surprised him that it was actually easier to have his mind distracted by the way Grantaire moved his tongue, the obvious gentle care his friend took contrasted sharply with everything else that was occurring. 

He opened his eyes, even though his vision swam, his body wracked with pain, but now a new sensation registered in his mind and he felt himself stirring beneath Grantaire’s attentions. He was beyond humiliation; he wished only for it to end as soon as possible.

Another beast spent inside him and another took his place. He was torn and sore and prayed for an ending of sorts, and yet to feel his friends so close, even to have Grantaire in such a hideous position; these were strange comforts. He was not alone.

He could hear Combeferre muttering encouragements to Grantaire and he felt a strange flair of gratitude.

Something strange was happening to his body. There was a tightening in his abdomen, a familiar symptom from those nights when he had been unable to control his bodily urges and permitted himself to relieve his body through touch. Grantaire’s tongue now brought him to a similar point.

Just when Enjolras would certain he would pass out, that he would die and be done with it, his whole body shook violently and he cried out loudly as he spent in Grantaire’s mouth.

Grantaire coughed violently, pulling away, sinking onto his hands, his head bowed now that his task was completed.

“Well, would you look at that!” the Captain exclaimed. He reached down, grabbing Grantaire roughly, pulling him up by his hair.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked. Enjolras forced his eyes open, horrified to see Grantaire’s tears. The Captain didn’t wait for an answer. 

“Come on, let us go. I grow bored of this scum.”

There was a volley of complaints from those who had not yet had their turn, not least from the one currently buried between Enjolras’s cheeks.

“Cease your complaining! There are plenty of other holes in Paris!” the Captain snapped. With a petulant grumble, whoever it was pulled out, stuffing himself inside his trousers, still unsatisfied. As a final insult, he wiped his hands on what remained of Enjolras’s trousers.

The Captain released Enjolras’s bonds. He would have dropped straight to the floor had Grantaire not been there to catch him, gently lowering the shaking man to the floor. With a final bellow of laughter, the guards left, the sound of the lock snapping shut echoing in the silence they left behind.

Enjolras seemed surprised to find himself on the floor, no longer being beaten or used. His body was his own again. 

“Lie him on his front, Grantaire, for the sake of the gods, man!” Combeferre shouted. Grantaire tried to move, his hands trembling, his touches careful and reverent. 

“Like this, Enjolras,” he murmured, guiding his leader to lie on his belly. Enjolras sighed against the cold stone floor, a sharp contrast to every other part of him that burned.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Grantaire cried softly, over and over.

“Hush, you did me a great service, my friend. You held your nerve. You were so brave. I am proud of you.” Enjolras’s eyes were closed, but his hand reached out to Grantaire’s shoulder, pulling him closer into a half-embrace. Grantaire whimpered, but allowed himself to comfort the man that held him. They lay like that in complete silence, the others too appalled to speak by what they had witnessed.

“We’re going to die,” Grantaire muttered, no fear in his voice, just an empty acceptance of the inevitable.

“I shall be proud to die for my beliefs,” Enjolras replied, his voice firm despite his agony and fatigue. He sounded like his old self. “And,” he turned, piercing blue eyes staring intently at the man beside him. “I should be proud to have you by my side when that time comes.”

Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut, his heart in flames in his chest at Enjolras’s words. He felt soft lips brushing a chaste kiss to his forehead. 

“One short sleep past, we wake eternally,” the fragile but determined voice of Jean Prouvaire broke the silence. “And death shall be no more. Death, thou shalt die.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Enjolras's speech in Volume V Book I Chapter V of the brick - paraphrasing that the revolution is the toll paying the heavy price for the future.
> 
> Jehan quotes from John Donne at the end.


End file.
